


Pride

by fantom_ftnoise



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (some brief introspective angst), Angst, Asexual Character, Asexual Harry, Asexual Harry Potter, Complete, Consent, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Foreplay, Kissing, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 06:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15857781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantom_ftnoise/pseuds/fantom_ftnoise
Summary: Draco takes pride in his bedroom efforts, but Harry doesn't seem to care.





	Pride

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Non-graphic mentions of past/potential sexual content, and discussions of consent for an asexual character coming out to his partner.
> 
>  __Find me on[tumblr!](https://fantom-ftnoise.tumblr.com/)

Draco takes pride in his bedroom efforts.

 

That wasn't always the case, of course. Pansy was a disaster. Greg was an awkward experiment – he shivers just to remember it. But he began to hit his stride in Blaise. _With_ Blaise, rather. It's not about what he does with his bits; that's just the delicious icing on the bedded cake. It's about building the mood. Touching. Once Draco discovered the theory behind erogenous zones, well, the game changed and he found his rhythm.

 

He is a memorable lay, to say the least.

 

But it seems like Harry couldn't care less for his efforts. Draco does everything right. The neck is his favorite place to start. No one invites a touch to their neck, not without complete and utter trust.

 

And Harry's eager for his touch, even now. He clearly loves Draco's hand on the back of his neck as they lounge together on the sofa. He leans into it. His muscles are always knotted up after working a full day in the shop. Broomwrighting is hard, physical work, the way Harry does it: every handle carved by hand, sanded by hand, stained by hand. Every twig meticulously selected with Harry bent over the workbench, brows knitted in concentration. Every rise and fall of the hand-braided twine that weaves the twigs into a tight cinch. A certified Lightning broom dominates every custom-model market, and Harry's coiled muscles carry the price.

 

Draco takes pride in helping him find release. Honestly, he doesn't know how Harry would survive without him...the Weasels would probably come to drag him to Sunday lunch only to find him curled up in a solid ball of twisted, achey muscles. So Draco can't understand why Harry invites a touch to his neck, then an arm around his waist, even a hand gripping his arse, but not the icing on the cake. He settles into Draco's side, a perfect fit. He hums at the kiss to his ever-windswept hair. He closes his eyes and puffs a happy little sigh when Draco crooks his arm to card his fingers through his stupid hair.

 

And that's it.

 

He pulls away if Draco goes any further. Their perfect fit is left empty and cold as Harry oh so casually shifts to the other end of the sofa, kicking his feet up into Draco's lap and holding Quidditch Through the Ages in front of his face. As if Draco can't see through it.

 

He asks. He immediately regrets asking, because Harry doesn't lower the book, which means he wasn't even reading in the first place. Just using it as a prop between them.

 

But Harry does answer, finally, and the answer leaves Draco wishing he hadn't.

 

“'It's not you, it's me'?” Draco manages. He feels like he's choking. Is this how it ends? Six months of living together, suffering the media storm together, braving Weasel Sunday lunches together – twenty four lunches! – and it ends here, on this blasted sofa. With the Wireless playing a Harpies game in the background. Draco doesn't think he can handle it if Weaslette scores right now.

 

And Harry explains. He says he's broken, “or something.” He says he thought he just couldn't keep up with Weaslette – and damn it all, the bitch scores just as he says her name and Draco slashes his wand at the radio. They're left in silence, Harry's words ringing between them. _It's one of those things_ , Draco can hear his mother saying in his head. One of those things they have to talk about. _Communicate_. Ugh, it's tedious and uncouth and bloody well necessary if he doesn't want it to end here, on this sofa.

 

They talk long into the hour. Harry plucks up his Gryffindor courage and tells Draco all about how there's something wrong with him, how he loves Draco with ever fiber of his little lion heart but he just doesn't want...that. Not from him, not from anyone. But what Draco hears is that there's something wrong with _him_ , with _his_ efforts, and Harry's quick to correct. Inevitably, they fight. His words are as sharp as the knife in his gut and Harry shuts down. Goes cold.

 

Draco settles back into the couch – he doesn't remember when he stood – and they try again. Draco can't stand a cold Harry Potter. He fell in love with his fire, his fight, and this is too much like the prickly first few weeks of their business partnership. He wheedles his way back in. He's good at that. Picking. Poking. Finding just the right words to ease them back into a conversation he very much doesn't want to have.

 

At some point, his anger shifts into something else entirely. _Broken_. Harry Potter is not _broken_. Who told him that? Who could look at this man, this fiery, courageous, affectionate, gentle-hearted man and see something broken?

 

“Just because I didn't read the instruction manual, doesn't mean you're broken,” he says, and watches in a sort of detached fascination as Harry uncoils ever so slightly.

 

Harry loves all of it, he tells him, “just not...that bit, so much.” Well, fine then. Draco can take care of himself, but what does Harry need from him if not his legendary efforts?

 

Harry takes him to bed and Draco protests all the way, offers to sleep on the cursed sofa, offers to give him his space. He doesn't want to crowd. He doesn't want to be where he's not wanted, and he's clearly not wanted in bed.

 

But they find their perfect fit again. There's something awkward about it, something...expectant. Draco's expecting something, Harry's clearly waiting for him to _do_ something, but he's lost in a way he hasn't been since the disaster with Pansy. Harry speaks like he's got Longbottom's toad in his throat. He wants, _needs_ all of it...just not that.

 

Draco kisses his stupid hair and tries not to wonder if it'll be the last time. It's a test he can't afford to fail but there's no bloody manual for this, despite his clever words. He holds Harry against his side and feels him relax marginally. He cups his arse – in for a knut, in for a galleon – and to his surprise, Harry doesn't pull away. He turns into it. Right... Right. Draco knows this part. Maybe he's not quite as lost as he thought, though the endgame has changed. When they snog, it's soft and warm, then a bit more warm, and just as Draco thinks he's found his rhythm, Harry pulls back.

 

Ah. Draco adjusts himself. Harry asks if this is okay and Draco gives him his very best sneer. When he's cooled off, he pulls Harry back in. They touch. All those places that aren't sexual but still somehow forbidden without trust. Harry craves his touch and Draco delights in teaching him a thing or two about a proper weave of limbs. It gets a bit ridiculous – he's not sure where his left leg is or how Harry's arm is simultaneously behind and in front of him – and they tease and banter just the same. Harry's skin is still the same, still scruffy on the jaw and calloused on the hands. He can still hear Harry's heart beating against his firm chest, but it's not pounding in anticipation of...something. He can still meet those fiery green eyes, though there's something more in his gaze now. Something excited, and that makes Draco feel excited – not in his pants, Merlin forbid, but in his own eyes.

 

“Fuck you, Potter,” he laughs, suddenly overwhelmed, and Harry grins.

 

Draco takes pride in making Harry happy.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  __Find me on[tumblr!](https://fantom-ftnoise.tumblr.com/)


End file.
